ax_main | Betsy and Cal - Halloween Party

Two completely well-adjusted teens chat, and don't dance, and kinda flirt, and it's all okay.

Betsy looked around, taking in the revelries as she sipped at her gently spiked punch. It wasn't her usual drink, but this wasn't a usual night. It was her first Halloween in the States, and so she'd adopted a when-in-Rome approach. Dressed in her faux-cowboy attire, she made her way around the dance floor to the area she'd seen him in last.

Leaning with easy grace against the wall he'd taken up residence near, she looked down at the black wolf. "Happy Halloween, Cal."

Happy Halloween, Cal projected back to her, before deciding to shift back into himself. Well, himself in an unkempt suit and tie, Bigby style. He'd watched her come over, but he hadn't expected the exact depth of her cleavage now that he had a higher vantage point, big though his wolf had been. His gaze snapped back up to her eyes immediately. "I was wondering if you were coming." There, small talk, not at all revealing talk, he could do this, and not look at her breasts.

His suit reminded her of Pete, which was mildly amusing. "It turns out I am," she joked. "I was hoping to see you here. What have you done so far?"

"Hung out awkwardly on the edge of the party?" Cal offered genuinely. And possibly keeping an eye on Caleb and Clint, but he didn't need to say so. "As much as a wolf can be awkward, which is thankfully not that much."

"That is a good point. I have a much better sense of your plan now," she agreed, voice gently teasing. "So, tell me about your costume, then. Other than being a wolf who is not awkward."

"Still being a wolf," Cal replied with a small smile, "just potentially looking more awkward. You ever read Fables?"

She shook her head 'no.' "What is it?"

"A comic book, about fairy tale characters living in their own neighborhood in New York City," Cal explained. "Bigby's the Big Bad Wolf. He can shift, and he's the sheriff of Fabletown. He's... doing the whole redemption thing."

"A favorite of yours?" She asked, looking genuinely curious. She would not have guessed him for a comic book fan, but then, Betsy supposed, she did not know Cal all that well. At least, comparatively. He was not precisely the sharing sort unless prodded a bit.

"Fables is pretty awesome," Cal confirmed. "It isn't like, superhero stuff. It's about... what you're ready to do to protect your own. And the odd connections you can forge." He gave her a small smile. "And it's kickass in a fairy tale kinda way. I mean, Cinderella's an awesome spy."

She gave him a dazzling smile in response. "I am not surprised. I mean, it's always the well-trained, posh ones you need to look out for." She ought to know. "Do you have any of these comic books here?"

Probably burned to a cinder in what used to be his home. "I have some scans?" Cal offered. "If you wanna be legal about it, though, you're on your own."

"What fun would that be?" Betsy asked. "I'd love to read them, though."

"I'll get them to you," Cal promised easily. "But don't blame me when you get hooked." A pause, and, with a smirk, "There's 150 issues."

She smirked right back, crossing her arms just beneath her chest and leaning back cockily. "Challenge accepted, Calvin."

Cal's gaze had barely had time to be drawn in by her gesture (and what it did to her breasts) when she called him that, and he winced, eyes cutting away from a moment. "Cal, please."

"Of course, Cal, my apologies," she assured him. "Are you enjoying the party?"

Cal really appreciated how easy things tended to be, with her. There was a lot she understood, or seemed to, anyway, enough to take them in stride. Maybe it was just acceptance, but either way, he was grateful. He looked at the party around them at the question. "I've already stuck around for twice as long as last time I tried this, so... I guess it's okay?" He turned his gaze back to her. "You?"

"It's not so bad, though I fear I am rusty at all this," Betsy said thoughtfully. She sipped at her drink for a moment. "After the body-switch, I've only been to parties with alternative motives. This is my first party in some time that I went to...for fun."

Given the way he'd reacted when she'd first explained the body switch, Cal was grateful that she decided to mention it in conversation. It went a long way to convincing him that she had not just accepted his apology (the grilled cheese had made that pretty obvious), but that she might actually have forgiven him. "Is it, though?" he asked curiously, lips quirked slightly. She didn't really sound like it. "Fun."

"Oh, I don't know," she said, sounding amused. "Some of our classmates are almost competent dancers. And the others are still fun to watch."

He chuckled at her answer, and shook his head. "So you've been having fun mocking the poor dancers?"

"Never," she assured him, "enjoying. Joy can be found even in bad renditions of the robot."

"Sure," Cal pretended to go for that, nodding, and amused. "That's a good spin you're putting on it." He was pulling her leg more than anything else.

Betsy smirked and winked. "Good man. So, what are your plans for this evening?"

Instinctively, Cal looked around for Caleb, checking that it wasn't the time to go, yet. But no, his friend seemed to be doing all right. "Stick around for a while, then head back and hang, probably." Catching up with Caleb's buzz, but admitting to plans to get drunk didn't feel like the right move, for all that he liked Betsy.

"Okay, but during those activities?" She drained her punch. After some surreptitious glances (visual and telepathic) she pulled a flask that had up to now simply looked like a piece of her costume, and poured two fingers of scotch into her glass.

"Chatting with you's a good start," Cal replied, smirking a little in approval. Hiding liquor in plain sight? Nice.

"Flatterer," Betsy said, smirking right back. For a rueful moment she let her mind skip over scenes of how this might play out, if Cal were further on his path to self-ease, but that wasn't where he was and she'd no intention of making him uncomfortable.

Cal glanced away with a shrug. "You're good company." Was it flattery when it was true?

"You're not so bad yourself," she returned sincerely. She sipped her scotch - Pete had been spot on as to its quality - and then offered him the glass. "Would you like some? Wisdom was right, it's top shelf."

"Thanks," Cal answered with a shake of his head, declining the offer. "It'd be wasted on me. I can't get a buzz, and I wouldn't know top shelf - whiskey? - if it bit me in the ass." He was guessing it was whiskey, given the color. Maybe bourbon? What was the difference, even?

She nodded in understanding and took another sip. "Can't get a buzz?" Betsy asked curiously.

"Healing factor," Cal explained. "Burns the alcohol right outta my system."

"Huh. I don't know that I would have guessed that in one hundred years," she admitted. "Disappointment or relief?"

"Both in equal measures?" Cal offered. "On average, anyway."

"Fair enough," she conceded, smiling. Betsy glanced at the dance floor for a moment as she took another sip, before turning back to look at Cal a bit speculatively. She crossed her arms just under her chest as she mulled something over.

"So," she finally said, "any interest in dancing? Bearing in mind, of course, that I won't get my knickers in a twist of you say no."

After all, his boundary issues were fairly clear, and she'd no desire to test them.

"Pass," Cal told her with a small, apologetic smile. At least he didn't think he had to elaborate, with her. (And the less he thought about her 'knickers', the better.) "Maybe next party. Who knows." But this required enough of an effort as it was.

"I won't hold you to it," she promised, smiling back easily.

"Don't let me stop you, though," he added. "If you want to go and find somebody to dance with."

She waved off his concern. "I'm sure if I'm still in the mood, I can take up a slot on Warren's dance card." Betsy smirked as she glanced over at where Warren stood. "Assuming I can drag his attention from his significant others."

Cal followed her gaze, then looked back at her. "You said you knew him from - before?"

She nodded. "Our families ran in similar circles, and to be frank those circles tend to be exceedingly boring, so we children had to band together."

Cal gave her his half-smile, keeping his tone warm and playful. "The tough life of the incredibly wealthy?"

"So tough," she agreed with a melodramatic sigh. "You keep buying ponies to fill that void, but it never goes away." She winked at him.

Cal laughed at her answer. "Man, did you actually have a pony? Now I need to know what it was called."

She chuckled. "I did actually have a horse, from the time it was a foal on. I named her Emma Peel. Of course."

"Emma Peel?" Cal echoed curiously.

"You mean to tell me a man born across the pond in the new millennium is not up to snuff on his 1960s British television knowledge?" Betsy asked, feigning shock. "She's a character in the Avengers. It's a British spy show from the sixties; I used to watch re-runs with my father."

"Sounds more like superheroes than spies," Cal remarked, amused.

"Well, they are crime fighters, so the name makes more sense than on first glance. Could be a superhero name, though, absolutely," she agreed.

Cal skirted clear of imagining what kind of superheroes they would be, with a name like that, and went back to the reason they were talking about it at all. "So this Emma Peel, she was awesome?"

"Oh, she was a badass. Good at fighting, fencing, science, business...I mean, they frequently had her doing much of that in a catsuit, but she was still incredible," Betsy said, nodding.

"You're not making her sound any less like a superhero," Cal pointed out with a half smile. "I mean, catsuit."

She laughed. "Fortunately, catsuits are no longer the norm in British spywear. I mean," she widened her stance a bit and placed her hands on her hips, "can you imagine me in a Lycra catsuit?"

"I..." Shit, his eyes had dropped back to her cleavage, but Cal immediately looked back into her face. "I'm pretty sure I shouldn't answer that."

She quirked an eyebrow in amusement at the response. "See, I'm curious now," she teased. "But I suppose I can let that one go."

"Thank you for your mercy," Cal told her with a small smile. Look at him, flirting with a girl and not freaking out. This was definitely progress.

"I ought to add that to my overwrought title. Lady Elisabeth Braddock the Merciful. Just so you don't forget my good attributes," Betsy joked.

"Yeaaah, I think I'm gonna stick with 'Betsy'," Cal let her know, relaxing as they took a step back from flirting. "Calling you milady would just make me sound like a total douche."

She wrinkled her nose a bit in sympathy. "Yeah, don't be that guy."

"I mean, I'm sure I'd look great in a fedora..."

"I don't think the facial hair would suit you, though," she said, looking at him speculatively as though considering it.

"Yeah, no, you've got me there," Cal agreed, rubbing a hand over his jaw and looking saddened. "I guess I really won't be that guy."

"All for the best. Only my parents and brother call me Elisabeth, anyway, and nobody calls me Lady anything. It would be supremely weird," she assured him.

"And incredibly douchey," Cal added, with a smirk. He would like to dance with her, he realized, suddenly. He was pretty sure he wasn't ready for it yet, but wanting to was a good first step, right? He'd take it.

...he'd been staring at her, hadn't he?

"So just the one pony, then?"

It wasn't that she didn't notice his slight...preoccupation...but she didn't call attention to the way Cal's eyes lingered on her. Or the places they tended to linger. All that would do is embarrass him, and make him uncomfortable, and for no purpose. It wasn't as though she minded. An attractive man with a quick wit whose company she enjoyed? It was flattering more than anything else.

"Just the one. I think my brothers," she immediately caught the slip and self-corrected, "horse kept her company, though."

Seamless, of she did say so herself.

Cal tilted his head to the side with a slight frown. "Wait, you got a pony, but he got a horse?"

"Mine was a horse too," she admitted. "A foal when we got her, but a horse. Pony just sounds more absurd, doesn't it?"

"Totally," Cal agreed, smiling again now. "That can be the official story."

Betsy grinned. "Good. If I can't use my upbringing to sound ridiculous, what good is it?"

"Elegance and impeccable manners?" he offered.

"Perhaps, though I think it is Wisdom's personal mission to break me of both," she said, tone joking.

"He's the yang to your yin?" Cal asked. And maybe he was wondering whether anything was going on between them, so sue him.

"My partner," Betsy corrected gently. "We've been teammates for some time, been through a lot together.

"But he has no patience for the 'sodding idiocy of the poncey nobility,' so I minimize how much of it he has to endure." She said, chuckling a little. "That said, he's very little patience in general. He told off half your X-Force when we were rescued. I can't tell if he's already pissed off one of your classmates or if she's impatient too and looking to shag him. Haven't quite got a handle on the looks they sometimes exchange."

That... was a lot of information (and probably answered the question Cal would never have voiced), and it was telling that, whoever Betsy meant, she considered her Cal's classmate rather than theirs. The same went for X-Force, but Cal particularly felt as if he needed to dissociate himself from them. "Not my X-Force," he remarked, simply, then moved on. "But he sounds like... a character?"

"Ah, then my apologies again. And he is that. A good bloke, though. Through and through," she said, smiling.

"Good," Cal said, with a soft smile. Betsy deserved to have 'good blokes' in her life.

"Do you have friends like that?" She asked. "That you know you can trust with your life?"

"Sure," Cal confirmed, without needing to think about it. "Clint, and Caleb. The, uh, huntsman, and the redhead with the hawk?"

"Good." She said, smiling at him a moment before looking out into the center of the action to try and spot them.

"They're playing that Clue game over there," Cal offered helpfully.

"Well, if their costumes are any indication, they look like interesting guys to know," she said, her tone complimentary.

"They're fucking awesome," Cal said, a simple, but heartfelt statement. He would do anything for them.

"I expected nothing less from a man of refined taste," she assured him. She meant it, too. Anyone who had Cal's loyalty like that had to be special.

"Sure, yeah, that's totally me," Cal confirmed with an amused half-smile.

She chuckled. "Well, you're friends with me, aren't you? And I think that means you've wonderful taste in friends, at the very least."

"Good point, you're probably my most refined taste," Cal agreed.

"There's a joke in there that I will let go, but only because I like you," Betsy said, a gentle tease in her tone.

"The merciful strikes again," Cal pointed out, actually thankful that she would let it go, but willing to play it off as a joke.

She smiled, and gave him a lingering look before admitting, "I've been monopolizing your time, haven't I?"

"Yeah, 'cause I'm such a people person," Cal confirmed, then smiled. "Other way around, I think. I'll just wolf back."

"Don't be a stranger, Bigby," Betsy said. "The night is still young, and you're good company."

Cal, back in his huge wolf form, nosed at her hand. I'm not leaving just yet, he told her telepathically.

Good, she replied, resting a cautiously gentle hand on the soft fur of his head.

Cal made a soft little whine at that, thankfully drowned by the music and general noises of the party. He dipped his head very slightly, then pushed it up into Betsy's hand.

Maybe it was easier for him like this, in wolf form. Or maybe it wasn't, and Cal was braving the storm to push those bounds. They way he'd pushed himself into her touch could mean either. She pet him, gentle still, for a moment. Is this okay? I can stop if you want.

No, it's fine. Cal paused, and winced, as much as he could in this form. Fine was not an appropriate word for it. It's... nice. Slightly better.

She smiled down at him, and allowed herself to pet him more confidently for a spell. Sometimes there was nothing that needed to be said, and even at a party they could just share a quiet comfortable moment.